cH3m357RY
by SILENT TROWA
Summary: CHAPTER UPDATE!How can you hate the only person who sees past your mask and knows who you really are? QxD A totally new form of writing for me, but surprisingly my best so far.No really THIS IS THE BEST STORY I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. Reiew plz.
1. The Meeting

Disclaimer: blah blah, I down own the characters, blah blah, bandai does, blah blah blah...  
  
Author's b.s.: this is a more serious story compared to some of my earlier works, which are more centered on comedy. But the reasoning behind this radical new idea is because frankly, "Sometimes life doesn't have a punch line."- Fred "Piro" Gallagher, Megatokyo ============================================================================ =========  
  
Dorothy twisted and turned in her bed, plagued with memories. It had been 4 years since that day on Libra. Quatre had not only make her see that she was really wearing a mask; but that she wore it so much it had become a part of her. And in her denial, she ran him through.  
  
Some of his words echoed through her crowded mind every day. They haunted her because she refused to accept them. He had told her that inside, she was kinder than he was, and that even though years of war, death, and fighting had turned her heart cold and dark, she was still a beautiful person. She would think to herself she would think: but why?  
  
But that was the worst part, he loved her. Every single flaw, from her thirst for combat to her odd eyebrows. It drove her crazy, because although she couldn't bring herself to admit it, she loved him back. He was the only person who saw past the mask and into the real Dorothy Catalonia. He knew how she felt and wanted to help her. She put up her emotional barriers and when he broke through them, she tried to kill him.  
  
Dorothy felt horrible that morning; she had yet another dream about Quatre and Libra. "Definitely not a good way to start such a big day" she said to herself. After she got dressed and ate, she went downstairs to the parking garage to take her banana-yellow Lamborghini to the emergency earth-colony senate session that was called last night  
  
As she entered her underground garage, She held down the "unlock button" and the driver door opened. A split second later, the engine self-started and revved. Its onboard computer set up an uplink to the auto-service satellite 430 miles up. It received weather information on its location, verified by the onboard G.P.S., and cross-referenced it with Dorothy's personal preferences. The sunroof opened, and the windows came down. The stereo activated, and the volume and disk settings resumed to its pre-shutoff state. The computer also made an uplink to her palm-pilot, read her emergency meeting, and by the time Dorothy reached her car, it had already come up with traffic reports and directions through the least congested highway  
  
Dorothy didn't notice any of it though. The inside of her head was as if it was awash with napalm. Her feelings were fighting her stubborn will, viciously vying for control, precariously perched upon the thin line between love and hate.  
  
The drive and meeting itself was uneventful. The most part of it at least. Before the final word was said and the gavel struck the wood, the grand wooden doors burst open, and the only missing council member stepped in. unsurprisingly, it was Quatre. Always needs the dramatic entrance she thought. Quatre marched up to the speaker's podium and slammed the papers upon his podium. The speaker of the house, Claudius Burrows, took a look at the papers then set down his gavel.  
  
"I'm afraid to inform you that the council meeting will convene at some later time. A new, very worrying issue has just come to my attention." Dorothy sat up. She was interested in what this was about. "According to these lunar survey documents and exploration logs conducted by the Winner Corporation, it appears that there is a factory on the far side of the moon that happens to be producing large amounts of mobile suits in direct violation of the demilitarization treaty of A.C. 196."  
  
Quatre stepped up and took hold of the microphone. "Our current Examinations say they it is run by a major company and is using the facility to produce suits for sale on the underground markets." he said. Dorothy's eyes widened. They had found out about the plan. There had been rumors about a factory on luna still producing mobile suits for the Denza Corp. that were sold on the black market for huge prices. Dorothy's family Corp. had invested substantial abounds of money in the Denza Corporation. If the earth/colony senate found and proved the base existed and was running under the flag of the Denza corp, they, and all the companies that invested in it would go down in political flames. I have to do something, NOW Dorothy thought to herself.  
  
She stood up, feigning outrage. "This is ridiculous. We have nothing solid not counting Mr. Winner's reports that, I dare say can be easily mistaken." Quatre seemed to be caught off guard. "Are you questioning the validity of my sources?" He shot back. "If something this big somehow managed not to be detected by the Preventor army, then the money made from this would surely be detected by the monitoring division of the ministry of commerce." Quatre smiled. "Obviously the company running the operation has enough influence to have an agent working in the ministry of commerce as part of their laundering scheme." Dorothy was about to open her mouth to verbally impale Quatre with her sharp tongue when Burrows shut her up with his gavel. "I have an idea." he said, "I agree with Miss Catalonia with the possibility of those reports. I suggest to both of you, simply go to on a senate supported expedition consisting of you two to investigate the matter. We could re-convene to find another idea, but in light of the massive new year's celebration that is coming up in two weeks, that takes away precious time that we don't have. I will arrange the plans with the military. In maybe a day's time, you will be picked up and will depart for luna. I will contact you again later to give you additional information after I get this thing set up.  
  
2 minutes later  
  
Burrows set his gavel on its stand on his desk and sat down. his chair creaked and he sighed. he said, internally. the Quatre/Dorothy situation as not going to go anywhere unless someone had to get involved. He had known both since they were in diapers. He was the only friend both their families shared. He could see right through their little phsaad's. Their feelings for each other had to come out sometime before they couldn't come out at all. Hopefully his hasty decision would uncover the mysteries of this "factory" and finally get those two to admit their love. If the his plan failed, he could not only end up killing both of them but maybe starting another bloody war. 'I hope im right, If this doesn't work I might end up starting another bloody war.' He thought. His chair creaked more as he leaned back in it. 


	2. The Airport

Chemistry. A story. About..well..signs. Well signs is this chapter's theme anyway.  
  
Warnings and Content: well, im not even going to go there. If you are one of my loyal readers which odds are that you are not, then you already know that I'm not a person who w ould put up some good old fashioned pwp.(well not anything heavy) but don't get me wrong, if your looking for "GUNDAM WING MEGA OOC YURI-YAOI Lemon-fest!!!!" then you got the wrong writ-err site, I mean. (Those bastards wont stop till were only allowed to submit g- rated fics) but if you have read some of my earlier fics, then you know that ANYTHING can most likely will happen. You have been warned-things will get heavy-but don't get your hopes up, I can only go push the envelope so far...FUCK IT. WARNINGS: VIOLENTLY SATISFYING LIME  
  
Dorothy threw her things into the decorative woven hicory chair that sat on her lower porch and closed the door behind her. She cought her butler, Hudson watching her through the den window and shooed him away before he could motion to her if she needed any help. Hudson had been suprised and slightly offended when she didnt ask him to pack for her trip, but she had reassured him that she was okay and didnt need for him to fetch the large suitcase. After she convinced him that she could cope with just using her overnight bag for a three day trip to the moon, he rushed off to see the maid, who was convinced that young miss Catalonia was "going back to her old ways". Dorothy had resented it of course, but realised that she rather liked the fact that it was true.  
  
She looked instrinctively over to her bag. It was a little full, of course, she had to cram all her other crap down so she could fit her old skin-tight stealth space suit helmet and spare batteries. it was jet black, crammed with power guzzling fiber-optic chameleon tech, and was VERY tight, for use tight quarters, and so nothing would shake, rattle, or shine, giving away one's position. She had thrown on some baggy old jeans, a tank-top, and an old leather bomber jacket. She had her old OZ beret that she managed to get on her head despite her long flowing gold locks. It was a family secret how she pulled it off. -even if she was the one who started it.- She looked very ex-military look about her, and that was what she aimed for. Her and Quatre were going up on a routine military transport with the usual supplies for the Holman Outpost.  
  
Dorothy sat down in the chair next to her bag and crossed her legs, almost forgetting the twinge of annoyance that she felt every tome she did something of the sort, reverting to the "formal" political Dorothy. She turned the idea over in her head, and decided to dump that particular aspect of her personality for this trip as a sort of much needed release of all the suffocatingly oppressive parts of aristocracy. She slouched in the chair, uncrossed her legs, and used the open-front aspect of her chair to stretch her legs. If her parents saw her slouching in a chair like this with her legs wide open as if she were a man, it would of stirred up a storm. She brushed some hair out of her face again and threw her arm over the side of the chair to leave it to hang there. she thought. This trip could easily turn from an inconvenience to a sort of half-vacation. The only inconvenience would be Quatre... She watched the Rolls Royce drive around the large fountain that was in the middle of the Catalonia family crest, made out fo flowers that sat in the center of her front open courtyard. She checked her watch. she thought.  
  
As the car pulled up, she noticed by the insignia and driver that it was sent from the council. She picked up her bag and made for the back seat .she opened the door and did a double take. There in the seat across from her, sat winner. He hadn't thought to look inconspicuous. He was wearing his normal 2-piece suit and dark sunglasses. She removed her hat and got in, shutting the door behind her. "Good morning, Dorothy." Dorothy quickly hid her surprise. "I was under the impression that you were going to take your own ride and meet me at the base." Quatre removed his glasses. "No 'hello'?" he smiled and took her in, "I like your new look." One side of Dorothy giggled, and the other side kicked it in the face. On the way to the base, he threw more compliments at her and Dorothy just concentrated on resisting the urge to strangle him. "What's with the getup?" Dorothy finally asked. "I thought we were supposed to look inconspicuous." Quatre chuckled at her. Dorothy's trigger finger twitched. "You don't look so unrecognizable either." he mused. He referred to he wool-padded brown leather jacket, cluttered with patches of different units and insignia, an her faded jeans. Dorothy was quick to defend herself. "New Berlin is filled with ex-military. I'll blend right in." Quatre turned his eyes to hers. "I doubt that. A beautiful girl like you would stand out in any crowd." Once again, Dorothy's feelings swooned, and her will fumed. Overall, Dorothy felt a little butterflies and a slight pang of frustration. "In fact, I'd bet during our entire stay, your radiant presence could be felt throughout half the colonies." He was totally serious, and it drove Dorothy nuts. "Quit the flattery and the whole 'prince charming' pitch! Its not working!" Dorothy yelled. Quatre's smile melted to a more thoughtful, academic look then to smug. "Your mouth says so but I don't thing your body agrees." Dorothy did all she could to keep from panicking. She forced herself to keep her cool composure and took a quick look at herself. Her fingers that were moments before resting in her lap were blenched hard into balled fists. Her teeth were gritted and her cheeks burned red. She let out a frustrated, exasperated sigh, and snapped her head towards the car window, as if refusing to look at him. Quatre also looked out of the window, at the botanical gardens on scenic avenue that they happened to be driving through. Dorothy wondered why the hell they were here, this road didnt lead anywhere near to the airport. She asked him about it, but her simply told her it was a shortcut. Knowing she was listening, Quatre muttered under his breath; "Its beautiful, just like you, Dorothy." he said this just loud enough to let her hear it, but not enough to make Dorothy think he said it for her to hear. Quatre looked at her fondly, smiled, and didnt say anything for the rest of the ride.  
  
When they got there Quatre took his and Dorothy's luggage from the driver and thanked him. Dorothy heard bits of their short conversation thereafter, Quatre apologizing for the bad timing, congratulating him and his wife on something, and that he should at this moment get back in the car ad make his best possible speed to St. Sebastian's Hospital, downtown. This left Dorothy confused. Since when did Quatre personally know council drivers? She decided against wasting time focusing on such stupid things. She rummaged through her mail delivery-style bookbag for her passport when she realised her cell phone wasn't on. The moment she activated it, it started ringing. She promptly answered it. "Hello?" "Ah, Miss Catalonia." She quickly recognized the voice of her butler, Hudson. "What is it, Hudson?" She could hear somebody in the background. "Im sorry Miss Catalonia. I have a rather confused driver for the ministry here, wondering why your already at the airport, when you were supposed to be here, waiting for him." Dorothy also, slightly confused. She then realised why Quatre knew that driver and told him to take the day off. It was His! The markings on the other car was fake. That's why they were driving through the botanical gardens. Dorothy was determined to make sure Quatre would receive retribution for this. "Tell him that I am already at the airport and are in no need of his services." she snapped the cell phone shut. After waiting in a ridiculously long line to check their baggage, they went to security. Due to the fact that they were both council members, privileged travelers, and known V.I.P. of the airport, they were waved through, even though Quatre carried two Kerambits, tiny, claw-shaped Indonesian fighting knives that were worn on the hands, in his pocket. These exotic weapons were used exclusively in the Javanese fighting art of "Pentchak Silat". Dorothy carried a more common Sig P-210 semi-automatic 22. caliber pistol. Tucked in her left sock were notorious carbon-composite non-metal "Israeli letter- openers", small daggers that were also balanced for throwing. Even if anybody knew that these two people carried this, they were acknowledged field agents and flag officers of the preventors, and therefore was perfectly legal. Dorothy looked at their tickets. It was now 10:00. Their flight began boarding at 10:10, with final boarding at 10:12. She took a photographic picture of the map of all the resteraunts in the airport that they past on the way to their gate. She quickly formulated a plan. "Quatre", she said, putting on the most innocent face she could muster. (This was an excrutiatingly heroic effort, she had absolutely no experience at it and her face hurt forcing such a new expression) "could you please go to that cantonese place down by e-12? I haven't had anthing to eat all morning, and im real hungry." Unfrotunately for Quatre, he bought it without question. "Sure, what would you like?" Dorothy smiled. "Sezchwan chicken."  
  
"What about the plane?"  
  
"You have half an hour."  
  
Quatre then smiled back at her and walked off toward the concourse's trolley station. E-12 was clear on the other side of the airport, and the trip alone would take 10 minutes. Her smile broadened. she thought. Minutes later, she was sitting in the 1st class seat, and her airplane was taxing across the apron. It stopped, suddenly. The annoyingly high-pitched voice of the flight attendant came on the P.A., announcing that a late V.I.P. was coming aboard and that they would be on their way again shortly. Dorothy's smile vanished and the blood drained from her face when she saw Quatre come on board and walk to her seat, a greasy brown paper bag in his right hand. "Sorry I'm late, I guess our flight got moved up, huh?" Quatre then gave Dorothy one of his stunning, billion-dollar, shit-eating smile. It made her sick. Dorothy was taken aback by his luck and stupidity. Couldn't he see that she had purposely tried to lose him? He acted as if it was an innocent mistake made by a cute, innocent girl. He still was smiling at her, its incredibly intoxicating charm sent butterflies shooting through her stomach. It was obscene. He turned to the stewardess, who deeply blushed, and began to explain the extensively complicated instructions to create his drink order. Dorothy shifted so that she was facing the window, at an angle that Quatre could only see her back. She looked dreamily out the window, propped her cheek on her palm...and proceeded to melt into her seat with pure extascy. 


	3. The Hotel

Chemistry Chapter 4  
  
Writer's Note: Because of Word Perfect 10's Extremely Problematic Nature, my Original author's note that was 3 paragraphs long was torn from the sketchbook of existence, crumpled up, and tossed into the wastebin of oblivion. Due to the fact that I have run fresh out of the drive and motivation to write another, I will keep it short. This one goes out to the young couples out there. ?????  
(Enjoi.)  
  
Chapter Four: arm in arm.  
  
As the shuttle touched down and began to taxi to the terminal, people began to un-buckle their seat belts and take their things out of the overhead bins. One well dressed young man began to remove the overnight bag of his traveling partner, but his traveling partner told him if he began insisting on taking her bag she was going to remove his head with her hands. Quatre backed off, his arms raised in surrender. "Okay, take your bag. "With that he handed her the overnight bag. As they passed the assortment of Shops and restaurants that led to the baggage check of Jurgen Von Holstein spaceport, one of the two partners was developing large bags under their eyes, and they were losing energy fast. The trip was 12 hours and only one of them slept. The other observed this.  
  
"You okay? " "Yeah, im fine. Im going to sleep once we get to the hotel."  
  
When they picked up Quatre's bag from the baggage claim, Dorothy flagged a taxi. The wind picked up, and Dorothy's hair flared. The middle-aged man in the business suit to her left caught the ends of it in his face. He dropped his bags to get it off his face but he lost his balance and toppled into an oncoming car. He let out a muffled "OOF! "As he was knocked three feet down the surprisingly empty road, banged into the back of another car, and was run over by the car that hit him. Nobody noticed, though, because they were all transfixed on Dorothy, who casually pushed her hair behind her ears. She was looking up at the Earth, Admiring the tiny dots of lights that were the cities of Asia. Her long golden locks flowed behind her, drawing attention from every corner of the pickup drive. Quatre smiled at her as he pushed his luggage into the trunk of the taxi. Dorothy, despite her feelings, she scowled back at him.  
  
The driver looked back at them as they piled into the back seat. He was a short, very young. His license that sat on the dashboard said his name was Christopher Jones, age 17, from the islands of Dominica. "Hey guys," he said in a very Spanish/New York accent. His voice was curiously about the pitch of someone half his age. "Dark is setting in, so im gonna get you as close as the New Berlin Hilton until I have to turn back and head home." after getting nods from both passengers, he prepared to shift into gear, when he noticed one. "You okay?" he asked. "Im fine, just get us there." was the answer. He added;"If I don't get you there in time, no charge." after giving a smile he informed them to buckle their seat belts and hold on. After getting onto the autobahn, he accelerated to 120 miles per hour, not having to move to avoid traffic because everyone had already moved into the safety of their own houses to keep from quickly freezing to death. The few stragglers were heading there too, Chris figured. After the creation of the atmosphere of the moon, the average "Daytime"temperature of the moon was about 76 Degrees. But as it moved into the earth's shadow, the temperature plummeted to -80 Degrees. Most cars simply would not run, and only people equipped special heated suits could go outside. Most businesses that could not operate under such conditions or could not be run from the moon's telecommunications networks, it simply was shut down until the sun shone again, or until the earth moved into position to reflect light. Jones' home was on the other side of town, and he had only 4 minutes until he reached the point that he would not be able to get home before the dark side reached it. He looked back again. One of his young passengers was fighting to keep from passing out, obviously exhausted. He pushed a little harder on the pedals and felt the spoiler push the car slightly more towards the ground.  
  
He was now three blocks away from the Hilton when his timer went off. He gritted his teeth and pushed past three yellow lights, costing him a precious ten seconds. He wasn't fast enough to beat the last. The light tuned red and Chris Jones cursed loudly in Spanish. He could see the staggering sun begin to vanish behind the beautiful image of earth. By morning they would be basking in the light of the sun reflected by earth for 7 hours until they were plunged into cold dark once again. Quatre and Dorothy read Chris' dilemma and dismounted the vehicle. After retrieving the luggage, Jones Spun the car in place, making a loud screeching and producing lots of smoke. He ignored the red lights and sped towards home. As the two made their way to the front doors two-hundred yards away, one of them coughed, and their legs gave way. Dorothy, in a desperate attempt reached for Quatre, and caught him...just before he was about to get a face full of sidewalk. "You moron." she started. "You should have slept on the plane, like I did."  
  
Dorothy didnt know it of course, but he did sleep the first two hours of the flight, while Dorothy stared out the window before falling asleep herself. He woke up and stroked the hair of the girl he loved, her face bearing an expression of angelic peace. This was one of the rare moments her true beauty came out. He procured a blanket from the stewardess, and covered her.  
  
Dorothy pulled strength from deep inside her and picked up Quatre, both her arms holding him, his head lolling over Dorothy's right forearm, her left arm carried his legs. 50 yards from the from doors, the dark side, simply a line separating light from dark moving at a jogging pace came and overtook her, immediate freezing cold washing over them both. The fire inside Dorothy flared up, her will refusing to give up. Her muscles were crying-screaming at her for relief when she kicked open the doors to the lobby, Quatre's bag on her back like a bookbag, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Two bellboys took their luggage as she checked in.  
  
The purser already knew who they were and was awaiting them. When they stopped on the 354th floor, the 2nd presidential suite, she opened the door and almost screamed in horror. Inside the suite, was a black-and-white striped love seat in front of a massive 5-foot television, an intricate- looking entertainment system beside it, the antenna for a 9.9 surround system on top of it all. The floor was all light shag carpet, and there was a complete absence of hard walls except the west wall that separated the hallway and elevator. The walls were all glass, giving a dazzling 270 degree view of the massive city. Few buildings stretched higher than the enormous 6-star hotel. What made Dorothy so angry was the bed. It wasn't the 2 queens of the presidential suite, but the single massive double king, a massive mirror for a ceiling. Someone in the council had given them the grand honeymoon suite. Dorothy vowed, she would find the sick bastard who had made this blunder, weather purposely or not she would see too it there would be a reckoning. She pulled the sheets back, took of his suit and vest, and put Quatre into the bed. She looked to the couch, and it didnt take long for her to realize she would have no chance getting any rest on the small thing. She hesitantly shed her bomber jacket, socks, boots, and jeans and climbed into bed with Quatre. His lips were purple, and his body was cold to the touch. were Dorothy's last thoughts before drifting off to sleep. An hour later she was gently snoring away, her face deceivingly innocent. Quatre had snuggled up closer to her, he clung to her arm and rested his head on her shoulder, and his legs pulled up towards his chest. Chase Fernander, head of services of all Penthouse suites(352nd floor to 360th)Sat in the 300th floor locker room. His name tag, however said he was Joe VanNeilsteroy. He got a real kick out of this, the fact that there was nobody on the moon who followed Soccer, and would recognize his blatantly fake name, that being one of one of the best players that ever played the game. He wouldn't have to worry much about it though, he would only be here for a few minutes more. In an hour he would be in the terminal in Holstein airport, on the 7:00 shuttle to Fort Lauderdale, the home of the preventors SPECWARCOM, which stood for special war command. The nerve center of all Preventor special/espionage operations. Fernander was a spy. Joe, his temporary persona was a head of services in the Nassau section. The usual New Berlin H.O.S. (Head of Services) was in his house with a team of preventors, on a sort of house arrest. He had called in sick with pneumonia. To replace him, Berlin called the home office. The home office, under temporary authority with the preventors cooperated by not sending anyone at all. Joe showed up that day posing as a H.O.S. (HEAD OF SERVICES) of the Nassau branch, working for the weekend. His one and only objective was at the moment sleeping in the honeymoon suite. He made sure nobody else was in the locker room, then opened up the panel in the shower. Behind it was a brick wall. It appeared solid to the untamed eye, but fernander saw the loose brick quickly. He pulled it out, and jammed the brick onto the mortar behind it. After two solid strikes, it slid aside, showing a small keypad. After entering his code, a second tile panel slipped out on the other side of the shower. He replaced the brick and the first panel and moved to the second. Inside was a camera, black stealth suit, sneak boots and a very large, heavy backpack with fasteners and straps. He quickly changed into the tight suit, an easy task for he was built very skinny and lanky, but short. He put on the ski mask, the pack, checked it, then double-checked it. He chuckled when he saw the face paint. he thought. He tossed the stuff into the incinerator chute. His dark chocolate skin gave him enough camouflage, he wouldn't need the artificial crap. He pulled the two rubber climbers from his cargo pockets and attached them to his hands. After searching around his Heavy pack, he found the Mark-55. He pulled off the upper floor ventilation shaft. He placed one hand on the hard aluminum plating, pushed, and turned his hand, locking the mechanism into place. After making sure he was properly anchored into place, he replaced the vent grill and began the tedious vertical trek up to the 354th floor., his french-made suction-cup style climbers making little noise.  
  
Dorothy shifted in her bed. Although her eyes were closed, she was wide awake. From the information she had gathered from her ears and analyzed in her head in the past 15 seconds, somebody had came through the vent by the couch and was now loading something. She shifted to the side once more, letting her arm fall off the right side of the bed, opposite the Intruder, and onto her clothes. Without moving her body, she navigated her hand into her socks, where she found her 22. Silenced pistol. She turned off the safety and was about to sit up and shoot the man when a bright flash stunned her. She instinctively put her hand in front of her face. She cocked the pistol and began to shoot. The man had a tactical sneak suit, one not unlike her own, but more standard, and was made with spidersilk kevlar. He also had night vision goggles and a ski mask. He shoved a small, shiny object into his pants and ducked under the love seat. Dorothy thought, wrongly. He rolled out from behind it and was on his feet and sprinting. Dorothy's bullets were missing him by inches, the small- caliber rounds rebounding off the reinforced glass just behind the short spy. He pushed open the window at the east side of the suite and jumped out into the cold lunar night, disappearing from view.  
  
Fernander quickly tucked his arms and legs back and angled himself around to the west side of the building, using small movements in his arms and hands to control his turning as he fell rapidly, his black silhouette almost invisible in the downtown skyline. The earth was just rising. The temperature was 30 degrees, and a few cars could be seen moving in the near pitch-black, not counting the bright lights of the few buildings that had them on at this unusual hour. Not wasting any time he fumbled in the harness of the large pack on his back and found what he was looking for. He yanked his rip-cord and felt the usual jolt has his special-forces-issue parachute deployed at 2,000 feet. He depressed a toggle on his watch/transmitter and scanned the skyline. His hands were wrapped around the chute's risers, slowing his decent. He found what he was looking for, the bright flashing of an ultraviolet strobe light, Its signal only detectable by night vision. He turned toward it and eased up on his risers, letting him fall faster. When he was about 10 feet above the target, the rooftop of an office center, where his strobe had been placed the day before, he pulled hard on his risers, yanking them all the way to his thighs. He landed relatively soft. He quickly removed the harness and moved to the roof fan. After jamming it with a nearby stick, he reached in and found the package. A plastic bag duct-taped to the inside of the 5- foot wide fan cowling, also placed there the day before. Fernander opened it and changed into the street clothes he found inside in 30 seconds. He pushed his suit, his headgear, and his boots into the shaft which lead to the incineration burners 50 stories below. He checked his watch and rushed to the west side of the roof. Exactly 10 seconds later his watch notified him it was 6:00 and 00 seconds Luna/berlin time. He took the camera, reached his arm off the corner of the roof and dropped it. 50 stories below, agent Charlie Castillo stopped walking, put his large paper bag down about an arm's length from the corner of the building, and pulled out a cigarette. A few seconds earlier he received the confirmation message from fernander that he had the picture and the literal drop was on. He also was fully aware he was making spying history with this highly complicated drop. Usually agents shared things by brush-passes, in which agents would meet in a crowded area, brush past each other and one would hand off the information without anyone around noticing it, usually dropping it into their open bag or pocket by slight of hand. If not that then the more common "Dead drop" in which an agent would specify a location where he or she would leave the information, then another agent would come by later and pick it up. This was a mix of both. The first time something like it was ever attempted. He lit the cigarette, and heard the sound of a digital camera traveling at about 200 miles per hour land into his bag ,splattering about the 12 pounds of lime-flavored jell-O inside it. He Picked up the bag, acting as if there was absolutely nothing amiss, and returned to his car. His partner, Sonny "Bebop" Rollins started the car and started off into the direction of the preventor safehouse that they called home. Castillo fished the camera out of the jell-O and ejected its disk. After quickly inspecting it, assured there was no jell-O on it, he inserted it into the laptop balanced on the door of the glove compartment. He attached the single picture on the disk onto an email and sent it.  
  
The picture went from the computer to its wireless modem. From there it was transmitted to a communications satellite orbiting 200 miles above them. From there it went to another orbiting earth. It then was beamed to the ISP's telecommunications receiver in Florence. From there it was transferred to the inter Mediterranean ISDN fiber-optics cable system. It then shot straight to the Earth sphere council network and was routed to the personal computer of the chairman of the council in his office. The entire elapsed time of the transfer of the file, from when it was pulled from a jell-O-covered camera and sent from a laptop in downtown New Berlin, Luna to when it landed on the desk of the chairman of the Earth Sphere Council, Sanc Kingdom was 6.61 seconds. The chairman glanced at his watch, and smiled. he thought, the computer chiming and informing him that "He's Got Mail!" The Time was 6:00 and 26 seconds Luna time. he said, internally. He opened the file on his computer and was ecstatic what he saw. A clearly defined image of Quatre and Dorothy in a large hotel bed. Quatre didnt give the passionate embrace of a lover, but was clutching Dorothy's arm like a young boy cuddles with a furry stuffed animal he is very fond of. Nevertheless, it was progress indeed. he thought. Claudius Burrows threw his arms behind his head, smiled inwardly, and leaned back putting his parade-shined bates onto his polished redwood desk. A thing he hadn't done in 10 years.  
  
In the hotel room, Dorothy was fuming. Apparently, someone had obviously tried to kill them. She knew that certain corporations funding the operation of the factory would find a way of stopping the massive scandal and crackdown that would certainly occur if the secret plant was compromised. But an assassination? Dorothy hadn't thought of it. She also totally forgot to let her contacts in those corporations know that she had no choice but comply with the council. She was a target now.  
  
Quatre was on the bed, getting over the shock of one, where the hell he was and how he had just blacked out in the middle of the street, and two, how in hell he woke up in a massive penthouse, clinging to Dorothy's half- naked form. She explained what happened from last night when he passed out to when the assassin jumped out of the window. "What was the flash, then?" he asked. Dorothy was taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought of that. "I dunno." she replied, admittedly. "I think that wasn't a gun he had, Dorothy, but a camera." Dorothy thought about it. Quatre's explanation made just as much sense as hers, and it also explained why there was a flash, but no bang, and the reason why she was alive. But this could only mean one thing. "Blackmail!." she blurted. "That's why it was a camera. They wanted a picture of us in bed! But how did they know?" Dorothy began to pace, ranting out loud. "Two council members on an investigation mission for the council found sleeping in the same bed-" Quatre got up off the bed, still in his button-up shirt and dress pants. "Look, nobody knows we are here for the council. Anybody would assume that we traveled here for the big celebration parade. It's the only reason. The council has no leaks, especially to the media. Everyone in that house loathes the press and would die before letting a word slip." Dorothy's pace sped up. "But that doesn't matter. That picture is solid, unfakeable evidence. If word got out that you and I were a COUPLE, then..." she trailed off, the thoughts that came after that so intense that she was at a loss for words. She then happened to look -really look- back at what she had just said, and her train of thought hit the emergency brakes, derailing the whole thing. All other thoughts washed away and was left with nothing but the echo of her last words.  
  
She stopped pacing, and turned to look at quatre. His expression was that of pure hurt. Her last statement had jammed through his chest and pierced his heart like the unforgiving end of a bayonet. "W-Would it really be that bad if we were together?"he stammered, his face forcing guilt's icy cold though Dorothy's soul.  
  
She remembered that for the past 4 years Quatre was madly in love with her and although she denied it fiercely, also was just as crazy about him. "No, it wouldn't that bad at all." she answered with all sincerity and truth in her voice. She saw a sort of half-hearted smirk of triumph form on his face. "Don't get the wrong idea, I still hate you!" The smirk on his face grew into a wide grin. "And you wonder why I like you so much." He said. Dorothy wasn't used to being taken so lightly. Her cheeks burned red. She leaned forward, her fists were balled up at her sides, her arms tense. "What's so funny? I'm not kidding! I'm dead serious!" Quatre began to laugh at her. "Its no use, you only get cuter when you get mad." Dorothy was about to verbally cut him down when the doorbell rang.  
  
Dorothy stomped across the room and jerked it open. A young room service boy had a cart laden with shiny brass plates, utensils and glasses in front of the door. "Im here with your breakfast." he told her. "Move out of my way." she snapped, motioning with her hand. "Why?" the bellboy asked curiously, innocence in his voice. "Because i'm going to storm out and slam the door!" the boy moved the cart. "Oh, why didn't you just say so? "He replied. Dorothy turned on her heel back to Quatre. He had sat back on the bed, his hands folded on his lap. His lips were pursed in a tight smile, trying hard not to laugh, but it was attempting to force its way out his nose. "Asshole!" she yelled at him. And with that, she executed an about-face and stormed out of the suite, slamming the door behind her, leaving Quatre on the penthouse floor in stitches, clutching his gut.  
  
After Quatre ate his breakfast, he went downstairs and inqured the pursor on the whereabouts of Dorothy. Armed with this information, he hatched a cunning plan of attack. IT was not so much as cunning as incredibly simple. He was going to apologise. 


	4. The Resteraunt

Quatre stepped into the bathroom after grabbing a salt cracker to munch on from the food cart the courteous your waiter brought in. After shutting the door behind him. He moved to turn the warm water on when he heard the suite door open. 'Probably just the maids here to clean' he thought to himself. He undressed and stepped into the steaming bath. After a few minutes he began to let his mind wander, invariably, to Dorothy. 'I bet she's pissed. I wonder how I can make it up to her.' he pondered, 'maybe I should take her out to dinner tonight…hmm.' while Quatre was postulating, he heard the door open and close again. 

Quatre son found out he was wrong about his pervious answer to who had come in, It was Dorothy. She had left a note on the bed, with an address, and one word: Now. Quatre put on another suit from his suitcase and moved to the nightstand to phone a taxi, but stopped as he took another look at the address. 'That's right across the street!" he thought. 

After taking the elevator down o the bottom floor, he stepped out into the bright lunar day. He could faintly smell the ozone and helium form the years and years of terraforming. The sun was shining, and the earth seemed to simply blend in with the cyan-turquoise sky. He crossed the busy road and found the building he was looking for, a small, brick building that looked as if it were and old train station before it was diverted to whatever it served as now. Quatre knew this to be not true, there were no trains on mars, and the bricks were hollow, filled with insulation non-metals. The was no sign, and the entrance was behind a fence that lay parallel to the sidewalk, on the side of the building, not in front of it. As he saw himself in, his steel-heeled Italian bracchian business shoes clicking off the polished-quartz-marble floor, he spotted a seater and approached it. Before he could address the person behind the desk, however, a waitress tapped him on the shoulder and asked ; "are you mister winner?" 

"Yes."

"Miss Catalonia has been awaiting you"

"Oh, yes…well, erm, you lead the way."

As the pretty young waitress guided Quatre away to Dorothy, he began to figure out what type of building he was in. He noticed the constant smell of meat when he entered one of the grand side rooms where he saw a single table, where lunch for one was prepared. Sitting at the table was Dorothy, in her OZ class c summer dress, with her pressed white blouse and pants, her hat resting on the table. Quatre thanked the waitress and say down in the white steel bistro-style chair across from his travel partner.

By this time he had pieced together where he was now. 'I cant believe I didn't know what this building was! Obviously it's a re….' his thoughts trailed off. His eyes were transfixed on the walls. The black white canvas walls were beginning to ripple and look as if they were coming alive. Colors flashed across them as if a mad swarm of painters were coloring the walls with breakneck speed. Soon it was done. A three hundred-sixty degree painting surrounded them. It began to move. Shapes and figures began o move. Sounds came gurgling out of speakers somewhere…hidden. The images began to focus, and Quatre saw where he was, and totally didn't believe it. 

They were in a bistro. In Paris. Far away in the distance he could see the top of the Eiffel tower. It was somewhere around 11:30. He looked around some more and the street sign on the corner read; "Rue Saint Jacque". The road let to a medium-sized bridge that led to a fairly large island. Directly across this river he believed to be the Seine, he could plainly see the Cathedral of Notre Dame, With its magnificent spires and flying buttresses. He recognized the illusion. This was no magical portal to a Parisian bistro. He moved to touch one of the people. His hand moved right though. A hologram. With this he sat down and admired his friend.

"Already finished being taken aback?" Dorothy inquired, "You have seen this before."

Quatre smiled at her. "I know, I just didn't think they had this at the moon. I'd be lying if I told you I liked them. I prefer the real thing." Dorothy shrugged and started on her croissant. 'Where is that menu?' she thought 'I could've sworn I asked for one over 5 minutes ago.' 

"I never saw the real use of these," Quatre continued, "I mean I can, but I don't see how you could take it seriously, as if we really were eating at this café. I always thought it was just for fantasy, you know?" Dorothy was slightly amused how he had already forgotten about their previous potentially life-threatening situations as if they were nothing. She then spotted the waitress behind Quatre with he menu. She was about to thank her when

Quatre shot up from his chair. "C'mon, lets do something while we wait!" Dorothy was in no condition to stop him, mentally or physically. Quatre bounded towards the nearby French Accordion player and suggested a classic Russian dance, one of the rare upbeat accordion dancing songs of the Slavs. As he began, Quatre danced about the bistro, as if he were mad, laughing and cajoling the patrons, exclaiming; "Come on then! Laugh it up, dance, be merry, none of you exist!" most laughed and humored the boy.

The song picked up and he moved to the waitress. In his joy, he gently took the menu from her and with a snap of his wrist sent it flying to land on the table where a now aggravated Dorothy sat. He took the waitress's hand and began to waltz with her wildly about the bistro's cobblestone ground to the music. soon the Parisians formed a large circle within the bistro, clapping and stomping their feet the wildly dancing pair. The waitress was undoubtedly taken by surprise. Her long, curly, blonde locks and her long dress fluttered in the artificial wind, and she struggled to keep up with Quatre's dance step. 

"Bonjour, mon amour. Je suis fatigué de ce style de vie mat. Courons loin ! oubliez que ce vieux bistro et les lumières de Paris partons de cet endroit et partons loin loin - dans le sud de la France à marier, je construirai une maison, et nous pouvons vivre dans l'amour jusqu'à la fin de nos vies !" He said to her, smiling. 

He didn't pay mind to Dorothy, and if he did, he wouldn't have gave the waitress the deep, playful kiss he was now giving her. "You know, If I wasn't absolutely sure of my partner here's feelings, or if I didn't know any better, I guess, I probably would go and do that. If only you were real…if…you...were real...." Quatre trailed off. 

He once again mentally took a step back and asked himself what was wrong with the picture he was seeing. 'If she isn't real, then I wouldn't be able to touch her, much less dance with her, or kiss…oh dear.'

Dorothy was fuming. Before Quatre turned to look at her he could hear-no, _feel_ her rage. She looked as if she were breathing fire. Her eyes flared up with hostility and her teeth gritted. She grasped her fork as it were a combat knife, so hard her knuckles turned white.

The waitress, now confused no more, held her hand to her mouth, and was blushing deeply while giggling at Quatre, his careless mistake and his new dilemma. Her blue eyes were wide, filled with wonder and surprise. She gave him two pats on the back and apologized before promptly making her way through the crowd, excusing herself from the suite. She shut the door behind her, still giggling, leaving Quatre in the room with a furious Dorothy, and sealing his fate.

Quatre immediately began to apologize , but Dorothy wasn't listening. She advanced on him, menacingly. Quatre began to back up. "I mean, I didn't -really- mean any pf that, I guess I just got kind of carried away." 

Dorothy could barely control herself. She instinctively held the prong-heavy fondue fork in the pinch position in her hand. As she positioned her feet, Quatre put up his arms, and shut his eyes. Dorothy brought the fork to her ear and released it at Quatre.

The fork made one and a half rotations form Dorothy's hand and straightened out just as it passed between Quatre's thumb and index finger, before catching a lock of his hair. It continued unabated into the back of a cockroach that was at the moment climbing down the shoulder of a frightened Quatre. The roach, with the two-pronged utensil still buried in its back, flew off Quatre's shoulder onto the cobblestone below.

Her shaking stopped ,and and her rage subsided. She righted herself once again, and blinked, confused. 'I could've sworn I was aiming right between his eyes!' She dusted the croissant crumbs off her dress. Quatre opened his eyes and saw Dorothy picking up her hat. 'I guess she wasn't going to throw it' he thought. "This place is taking too long. If we wait any longer we're going to be late.

The two entered the main hallway and began to make swift progress towards the main door. Quatre walked a little behind Dorothy, even more confused now. Not only did Dorothy look like she was about to kill him, but now ALL the waitresses were giggling at him and throwing curious glances his way when he past. They kept their distance, though. Although Quatre couldn't see Dorothy's face, he figured Dorothy had her fangs bared, subliminally growling and fending off the 'intruding' waitresses. As they reached the front desk, Quatre found the embarrassed waitress speaking to the older lady behind the main desk, both giggling.

Dorothy went to the huge double French doors, stopped short, and looked back. Quatre came to the front desk and explained to the woman behind the desk, Danielle (according to her nametag) That he and his business partner were terribly late and they had to get going soon. He then addressed the blushing waitress next to her. She told him her name was Anna Navarre. "And now that they were properly acquainted, it was a pleasure to meet you" Said Quatre, with a slight bow. "And i am Quatre Reberba Winner" Danielle gasped, while Anna just blushed deeper. He bowed once more, then kissed her hand. " Perhaps I will return here to finish my meal And maybe the dance before we leave for earth. I bid you both adieu." 

He turned and moved towards the door, and just as he was about to pass Dorothy, she also turned towards the door. Quatre quickly turned back and blew a kiss in Anna's direction, just to spite Dorothy. At this time, he was beginning to take sport in teasing his love. Dorothy must have caught this interaction out of the corner of her eye because she snapped her head back, her anger flaring again. Quatre looked at her and smiled innocently. He was a few paces from the doors and saw from the reflection off the glass of Anna, catching the kiss in her outstretched palm, and holding it to her chest. Dorothy, who was still turned back must of given a deadly look, for Responded, by sticking her tongue out at her.

Quatre pushed both doors out, letting the warm air rush at his face. Me moved out onto the warm morning and onto the sidewalk, Dorothy at his heels, putting her hat on. His bangs frayed and flapped about on his face as a gust picked up. He brushed them back, and noticed one of them was considerably short. Frowning, he didn't give it another thought. He smiled once again, and looked quickly at his partner. She would be fine. He looked up at the earth again, and once more, his hair blew apart. He didn't bother this time. He felt refreshed.


	5. The Limo

author's note: im sorry for the horrible delay, im afraid I had to take a breif respite from my normal writing (as usual) but i have been able to get this chapter put together. alas, my lack of consistency. Now that school's over, I really missed how fun it was to write romance. Sorry if this chapter's a bit short, but there's more to come! Promise!

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Quatre walked down the street a bit before he was finally able to flag a taxi, one of the many luxurious limo-taxis that frequented the hotels close by. It was running well below the speed limit, but not enough so that it didnt skid to stop close to quatre.

He motioned to Dorothy to hurry, and she scowled when he opened the door for her. Regardless, she sat down and took in the interior of the limo.

Quatre walked around to the other side and briskly got in, closing the door behind him. " Klouderhoven Base, if you please." Quatre stated to the driver. As they drove off, Quatre spied the nubile young waitress from the restaurant in the doorway of the restaurant behind them.

His mind was about to wander, but before it got far, Dorothy's tongue brought him crashing back into reality like a bungee cord. "You like her don't you?" She inquired, Quatre was caught off guard. He never figured dorothy to be the jealous type, but this comment, construed as suspicion, turned to jealousy. Although nothing corroborated this theory, he felt the green monster, an ugly blemish that the host didn't want to admit though everybody sees it. "I mean, you just CANT resist any little cute waitress who wants a fling with the great Quatre Reberba Winner." Quatre's theory was as good as law. Internally, he smiled.

Knowing he we would irritate her, he answered; "You know you are the only one for me, Dorothy." Dorothy, face livid with anger reached over to the other side of the limo and snatched a throw pillow opposite them. She brought it unto Quatre's head with a satisfying and muffled WHUMP! This time Quatre was ready. He pulled another pillow from under his seat and flung it at her. She covered her face, screeching in surprise at Quatre's premeditated retaliation. she swung blindly at Quatre, but her pillow connected with air. She opened her eyes and Quatre wasn't next to her anymore. she turned and saw him opposite her on the other seat with another pillow. She moved to strike him but he was faster, knocking her beret off in one clean whap

They carried on for a few more minutes, dorothy's cold ruthless strikes eventually being suceeded by playful, laughing swings, not really aimed anywhere. On a particularly strong swing, Dorothy slipped from the seat and lost her grip on her pillow, letting it fly, but narrowly missing Quatre's head. Taking the opportunity for a final, killing blow, Quatre reared back to give one last swoop, but slipped on Dorothy's pillow and tumbled forward, his arms desperately groping for something to stave his fall. Dorothy reacted on instinct, grabbing Quatre by the shirt and pushed him to her left, all the while pulling him towards her. Executed flawlessly, Quatre stifled an "oof", closing his eyes as he absorbed the force of is fall. His head, spinning from the reversal, slammed rear-first into the floor of the car, stunning him.

Dorothy heard the mild thump on the car floor as Quatre's back and skull connected the low-cut carpeting. Why she had reversed him as he fell she did not comprehend, and whichever logical reason her mind could have concocted would not be accepted anyway - her mind wasn't working at all since the plane ride and therefore shouldn't be trusted- so she simply sat there, taking in the young man below her. 

His shirt was taut, he hands pinning all the slack, stretching to reveal an intriguingly fit chest and abdomen. Dorothy's eyebrows raised and her imagination played on Quatre's body like a professional musician who had not had the chance to practice his work in a long time. His tight muscles were the strings of a grand harpsichord, of which dorothy's mind nimbly plucked, sending wonderful chords through her, and driving a response that burned her cheeks red.

Quatre's eyes fluttered open, and his vision slowly returned to him. Amazed at what he saw, he blinked once more. He could make out the lineaments of dorothy's round face, her eyes fixed on his chest, her body straddling him. Her hair fell about his and Dorothy's faces, creating a veil that blocked out the light, and to him, everything outside of them including time itself. Dorothy's eyes flickered to his with the quickness of a viper. He then noticed the slight blush that her face had taken on. Quatre was puzzled as to what brought it on, but soon he too felt his cheeks turn a darker shade of pink.

Dorothy's mind was a whirr of thoughts and questions, that is, until Quatre opened his cobalt blue eyes.

Time imploded on itself.

Her heart froze, her mind drew blacks across all boards, shrouding her logic and wiping clean her minds eye, leaving nothing but burning anxiety and pure, flaming emotion. It was one she was unfamiliar with, a stranger in her own mind. 'Is this...is this love?' she pleaded to herself. The power of this emotion spread like fire though her head and burned with pleasure as hot as plasma. She felt power over her own mind slip cleanly out of her grasp as if it were covered in oil.

And then time exploded.

Her mind raced once more, outpacing itself a dozen times over. Her heart stopped beating but began to hum, pumping more adrenaline than blood, rushing dorothy's body with so much pleasure that it hurt. Her vision tunneled as the world seemed to spin past her at blazing speed. Everything physical around her, the car, the seat to either side of her, lost their defining lines, and their colors began to smear-spill-into each other creating a fabulous swirl of excitement...all except Quatre. Dorothy leaned forward from her straddling position towards his face, the medals on her chest making a near inaudible clink. Quatre put up no resistance, instead he gently closed his eyes. Dorothy did the same. And as their faces drew closer, her mind eased, and her heart geared to a fluttering stop in anticipation as she felt the uneasy breath of her love on her lips...

A kiss. A simple kiss, can change everything.

Dieter Osterhout glanced into his mirror to see the young couple he was driving to see them on the floor of the limo, one straddling the other. He chuckled. "Ah, Liebe. Ich kann mich mrinnern, an als ich diese Junge war." he murmured to himself, fixed on the two. a smile played on his mouth. "Es ist ein guter Tag fur Liebe." And he was right. the people of New Berlin were becoming warmer with the approach of the festival, and the sun seemed to shine brighter. The Bio-enhanced trees looked greener and the air smelled of burning H-Fuel...what? Dieter sniffed around his seat, and under his arms, paying no attention to the road. When he finally did, he saw the massive hunk of steel that was the Derringer MkII tank mere meters from his front bumper. Instinctively, he slammed the brakes.

Dorothy was millimeters from Quatre's lips when an invisible rope seemed to grab her. Her eyes snapped open to see Quatre's face somehow slip to the left of her vision. And then she felt the force of her head hit the lip of the middle seat, smarting intensely. The piercing screech of tire on asphalt filled the limo, and soon it ended as they came to a complete stop. The silence was soon broken by the heavy driver. "Vee have arrived at zee Klouderhoven base."

Dorothy Quickly rose to her knees and her head popped up, scanning in three-hundred sixty degrees like a merekat scouting its surroundings. After she figured the reason of the abrupt stop, she frowned at the driver who chuckled sheepishly under her cold glare. "Es tut meir leit, frouline." he offered.

Quatre sensed the frustration in the air and began to laugh, almost maniacally at the situation. He was about to inquire on what happened a few seconds previously when Dorothy, quickly tired by Quatre's mockery, dealt I'm a swift jab to the diaphragm, stealing the wind from his lungs.

Dorothy opened the limo door and stepped out into the acrid air around the base and dusted off her gold-trimmed white uniform frustratingly. Confused by her own thoughts, she popped her head in the vehicle to call Quatre an "Asshole!" once more. With that done, she slammed the door on a squirming Quatre.


	6. The Gate

Moving right along, eh?

After paying the driver, whom in the end refused to take it, much too honored to drive the great Quatre Winner and his lovely "Wife", Quatre grabbed Dorothy's beret and jogged after her in the direction of the security checkpoint.

Dorothy stepped past the security gate (which was empty) and towards the headquarters/command center. While absent-mindedly moving to adjust her hair she noticed her beret missing. She turned, knowing that Quatre must have it.

Quatre felt just as hurt as when Dorothy had expressed he fear of their relationship that morning in the hotel room. Before him was the object of his absolute love, that which meant the most to him, and the girl of his dreams that he had gotten so close to kissing, but she never returned his feelings...his mind trailed off.

Dorothy had stopped and had spun around to face him, her cold eyes gleamed as winds swept in from the north and had twirled Dorothy's knee-length around her slender body in its playful caress. Quatre's heart skipped a beat, and in that moment, that in that simple graceful movement he KNEW that this was truly the girl for him, the girl he was going to marry, and the girl who would bear his kids. He shoved a hand in his pocket and fingered the contents to remind him of his goal and to bring him resolve..

Dorothy immediately spotted Quatre behind her, one hand he removed his pocket nad prodiced a beret. Dorothy quickly snatched the beret and fixed it upon her crown, Quatre falling in step next to her. "You know your beautiful, right?" Quatre supplemented, attempting to sound off-handed. This statement caught Dorothy off-guard and she felt her insides float. She looked at Quatre, attempting to discern if it was a witty attempt to derail her steadfast demeanor, but when she looked into his eyes she could read sincerity like a flashing neon sign. Her intuition confirmed it.

Quatre was terrified. Dorothy should have yelled at him or bashed his face in right now. 'she's probably never going to forgive me for that' he mused. He broke eye contact with Dorothy and looked straight ahead, reverting to his standard good-natured look. He was utterly surprised when Dorothy blushed and answered. "Thank you." Dorothy glanced to her partner and stepped to the left, giving Quatre a playful nudge that made him stumble.

Quatre nearly brained himself on the sign Dorothy pushed him at. He quickly recovered and was going to snap a one-liner when Dorothy spun once more. "But I still hate you" she stated, giving Quatre a playful smirk before happily trotting away once more, waiting for her partner to catch up.

IMPORTANT

Note that this chapter is conveniently spliced into 2 major parts/chapters. This is because I had the idea of doing this chapter just as a second-thought simply to give the reader the feeling that SOME progress was being made. I continue to have second thoughts about it, so if you think it shouldn't be included in the story just say so. And thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them.


	7. The Ready Room

Moving right along.

Quatre nodded at the two guards stationed at the CP entrance, and the woman to his side returned their crisp salutes. "Dorothy, why are they fully armed in combat gear?" Quatre asked.

"I don't know, but I guess there is something going on. Judging from the smell of H-Fuel everywhere there must have been an explosion or a fire of some kind."

Quatre frowned as he held the door open for Dorothy. "An explosion? What makes you suspect that?" he asked. "Duh!" Dorothy quipped. She soon corrected herself. "Nothing, just intuition, and the pillar of black smoke, feeding the dark cloud that blocks out the sun over the entire Klouderhoven Basin!" Quatre grew confused as Dorothy walked briskly past. He turned back toward the CP parking lot, and gazed into the sky. Indeed, back in the direction of the airfield a single shaft of billowing black that reached into the heavens already clouded by its tainting flow.

Once inside he once again caught up with Dorothy. Apparently her commander instincts alone led her to the battle staff's room, for the halls were cluttered with enlisted and officers alike rushing to give updates or run tests on little disks or handing reports to their superiors, hustling and bustling to keep things in control during an obvious incident.

This time Dorothy held the door for him as they entered the sound-proof battle staff room. It was cold yet humid the 30 by 30 room, covered with sound insulating carpet, including the ceiling and walls themselves. At the very rear, the commanding generals of the base sat on their raised dais, overlooking the other staffers on the floor below and deliberating over the current frenzied state.

"What is the possible health issue with this incident Lieutenant Ensley?" The man who's tag identified him as major general Shabaz Sejjad asked one young officer. On the floor, the officer looked up from his panel. "Well sir, the smell of the H-Fuel is detectable only to a mile or two of the explosion, but the cloud above is more than enough to tell what's going on. The only possible risk of overexposure is the direct vicinity of the site. All the NEST people are adequately outfitted."

The general to the left of commander Sejjad shifted in his seat, chewing on his cigar. This stunned Quatre. Why was an officer smoking in the war room? Quatre could tell the man had been working at the base for a long time. The seats to the left of the general bore smoke stains on the ceiling very similar to the one the general he was looking at had. They started at the end with a low ranking command position and continued on, the stains growing more severe with the higher position before finally skipping a seat. The seat before reaching the space he now occupied with the worst stains of the lot.

"General Jernigan? What are your thoughts on the matter?" The smoking officer placed his cigar on the wooden ash tray. "Well, maybe ya'll need ta' call them boys at the air-port. Get the word out to one of the colonies and get support." With his piece said, the general picked up the cigar once again and returned it to is old spot in his mouth.

Commander Sejjad shook his head. "The communications squadron already has informed me of the radiation being given from the chemical reaction of the smoke is interfering on ALL long range communications on Luna. All communications between Luna and the outside world has been effectively cut. All the communications on the military bands with satellites, the colonies, earth, gone."

A hushed murmur filled the air of the war room at this, a mix of frustration and disbelief. Another young officer stood to speak; "How are we able to communicate within the city?" he asked. He was answered by a young naval officer. Presumably the naval liaison. "Apparently the hard lines and the microwaves are not affected by the fire. We don't know this because we had no idea nor did we anticipate a fire of this size, so we don't know much of the possibilities. However earlier today I took the liberty of modifying on of the rockets we use to test the weekly atmospheric conditions and overloaded it with sensory equipment. The telemetry said that it went up alright, but the weight was unbalanced and when we received the location pinger after the chute deployment charge, the rocket was way off in the basin, just off the beaten path to the old shuttle launch site LM6." The young officer began to look uncomfortable at that moment. "If we spared some men and a light recon vehicle, we could try to recover it ant retrieve the information that could help us. " He sensed that his re quest would be denied. The southern XO set down his cigar once more. "Sorry kid, we cant allocate men we don't have."

Dorothy shifted her gaze to Quatre. "This is our chance" she whispered. Quatre nodded. She turned and addressed the general. "General, lieutenant Dorothy Catalonia, I was to report to you earlier this morning. I would apologize but I see that it would't be worth much at this point. "

Before she could say anymore, the major general cut in: "Miss Catalonia, I'm afraid you will have to get in proper ALLIANCE uniform before any-" the general was now the one cut off when his XO waved his cigar about: "Come now general, I know this girl, served under her family, seen her file. A fine soldier; I'm sure we can swing her. Either way this is an emergency situation and these things are of very low priority now."

"Thank you sir" Dorothy replied as she approached the dais and handed a folder to the commander. "Our orders, sir. 'Where the hell did she pull those from' Quatre thought. "Given the situation," she continued, " Mr. Winner and I would like offer our help, as the legal representatives of the earth sphere. More specifically to go and get that rocket back."

It didn't take long for the general come to the decision. "Fine. Go ahead. Ill get on the horn to the motor pool and you can pick up an jeep and atmosphere gear. This is all very good, right general Sejjad?" The general flashed a dirty look to his left and the commander remained silent, almost humbled.

"Thank you sir" said Dorothy, hading a smirk. She picked her hat from the table and winked at Quatre as she stood and pushed in her chair.

"Lets Go!"


	8. The Motor Pool

Wooohoo! Time for update!

The motor pool was, like the rest of the base and the Klouderhoven basin, dank and saturated with the smell of mass-epended H-fuel. It was invisible but its presence was almost suffocating. Much of the base's garrison had donned their level 1 bio-nuclear gear masks to operate. Though the suits could hardly be called comfortable, it was better than the steady torture of a feeling of suffocation Dorothy and Quatre had to endure to the motor pool building.

In the motor pool's ready room, Dorothy and Quatre looked like a sort of sci-fi royals, standing on a platform and holding their arms out as assistants and technicians scurried up around and about them, taking measurements, making notes and fitting them for their EAA (Extra-Atmospheric Activities) suits.

All the while, the young lieutenant , his tag naming him "Redfearn" was giving directions to the crash site , an introduction to EAA , and an explanation of how their suits worked at 20x rapid-fire as he worked his miniature briefing tool built into his PDA. Quatre and Dorothy did their best to absorb that information as the ant-like army of uniformed men and women fawned over them.

After what seemed only 3 minutes , They were being strapped into an LRB-10 rover. It resembled a small 2-seat jeep , but the back where an anti-infantry chain once was, was now a rear-facing jump seat, extra space and electronic equipment. The partners both were being yelled at by the pool sargeant (he had to yell as the mechanics ripped materials off the vehicle to reduce weight) about operating the jump thrusters and the 4-wheel steering system while they exchanged nervous looks. Soon they all were checked to go and everything strapped down. The trip would be extremely dangerous because the road to lm-6 was nothing more than craters from the fail of its final rocket , a multiple warhead missile that deployed soon after launch and came back down , to they would have to ride full speed using the craters as jumps in order to get there. Unfortunately for the heavy vehicle to fly, it would need to lose all extra weight , including extra O2 tanks. Speed was the key here.

Dorothy and Quatre's breathing would be sustained by a single o2 tank inside the vehicle, as moat of their EAA would consist of the long drive to the launch pad. With minimal backup systems and basic suits with little redundancy, the two were soon speeding down the broken trail that led to LM-6.

The tension began to disperse as the path never grew any more violent than the occasional pothole. Quatre kept vigilant, however, as he had insisted on driving there , telling Dorothy that if she absolutely HAD to drive, it would be best on the way back as she would have at least minimal knowledge of the road and she would make it to LM6 to accomplish their mission first. It had not been easy convincing Dorothy however, he basically had to push her out of the way and begin strapping himself in before she had finally given in.

At the moment, she was occupied with the thruster panel, calibrating the angles to her liking and getting a feel for the obscure sport of lunar dune-drifting and crater-jumping. "Here comes a big one, get ready" he warned. Dorothy braced herself against her seat and tightened her grip on her thruster controls. The buggy hit the steep incline of the outer crater and it reared up on the back wheels. As the vehicle threatened to flip Dorothy quickly depressed a control toggle and compressed gas spewed from a nozzle in foresection and the buggy soared frontways into the lunar sky. As they sailed on, the ground dropping away beneath them as they crossed the first of many craters, Dorothy finally stabilised. As she checked the guages and trajectory markers to ensure they were perfectly on course, she let go of the controls. Quatre who was fixed on the wheel , cought this in his peripheral vision and double taked.

"WhoA! The thrusters!"

"Its fine!"

Quatre took another look at the wheel and then quickly leaned over to Dorothy's console. Dorothy giggled as she leaned over. She broke into a laugh as Quatre calmed down. "See , I told you" she mused. Quatre shook his head good-naturedly to Dorothy's amusement.

_Tsuzuku_

The whole tsuzuku thing is something I shamelessly stole from one of my favorite writers here on means "To be continued"

But hey, impression is the best form of flattery, right?

Anyway, my one REAL fic is continuing and though I have made this promise before, and I have no doubt that my readers (if any) are beginning to tire , I will pick up the pace of updates to this story even if it means shorter chapters and if it seems that NOBODY reads my stories. The power of passion eh?


End file.
